Chapter 13 — The Wall And The Room #5
I was so tired I couldn't feel my hands. So satisfied that my cock felt like it had been put through a wringer and hung out to dry, twice, in rapid succession, with two different women who had taken everything I had and asked for more.
Worth it. So worth it.
Tatum was pressed against my left side, one leg thrown over mine, arm across my chest, fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin like she was writing something she didn't want me to read.
Her copper hair was everywhere, wild and damp, stuck to her forehead and my shoulder, and her freckles stood out against skin flushed from collar to navel.
"I think," she said, and her voice was rough and wrecked, "that my internal organs have been rearranged.
Very thoroughly. Possibly alphabetized. I'm not complaining, but I'm also not moving, and also I can't feel my legs, which is concerning, because I need those for future activities, and by future activities I mean more of this, very much more, as soon as humanly possible. "
I laughed, and the sound was rusty and real, and my hand found the back of her head, fingers threading through copper hair that smelled like sweat and something sweeter underneath.
"As soon as humanly possible might be optimistic."
"Soon is negotiable," she said. "Also, I’m very attached to you, physically speaking, which you’ve probably noticed. I’m approximately seventy percent wrapped around your body right now, and that’s post-orgasm Tatum, who is significantly less clingy than pre-orgasm Tatum, so consider yourself warned. "
Penny lay on my right side, platinum hair spilled across the pillow, one arm draped over my stomach, her hand resting on Tatum's hip where our bodies met.
She looked like she'd been poured onto the bed, loose and warm and glowing with the post-sex radiance that made her skin look lit from underneath.
Her green eyes were half-closed and content, and the smile on her face was slow, certain, and entirely real.
"She doesn't let go," Penny said, her voice low and amused. "I've known her twenty years. Once she's attached, you're stuck. It's actually quite charming, if you're into being used as furniture."
"I'm not furniture," Tatum protested, and pressed closer, her breast against my ribs.
"I'm a very affectionate koala. With excellent tits.
And a very thorough appreciation for your cock, which is exceptional, and also currently resting against my thigh in a way that suggests it might be interested in an encore sooner than medically advisable, which is promising. "
My cock, which had indeed stirred against her thigh at the mention of its name, was filing for union representation. It had been worked. Twice. Thoroughly. It needed a minute.
"I need a minute," I said.
"You get all the minutes," Penny said, and pressed her lips to my shoulder. "Very thoroughly earned." Her hand found my face, fingers tracing my jaw. "I thought it might feel complicated. Sharing you. It doesn’t. It feels like more. More of you. More of us. More of whatever this is becoming."
Tatum's head lifted, her blue eyes finding Penny's across my chest, and the look that passed between them wasn't jealousy or competition. It was warmth. Certain, bright, and honest.
"It was hot," Tatum said, simple and direct.
"You're hot. He's hot. I'm hot. Very complete hotness triangle.
Very efficient use of resources." She grinned, wicked and delighted.
"Also your tits are exceptional and I've been jealous of them since approximately freshman year, so getting my hands on them was a personal milestone, and I'd like that noted for the record. "
Penny laughed, and the sound filled the room and turned the air warm. "Your mouth is exceptional. The things you said. I'm still recovering."
"I have a gift," Tatum said, and buried her face in my neck, her laugh vibrating against my skin.
"My filter dissolves completely the second an orgasm is involved, and then it's just words.
Many words. Very explicit words. Very thorough descriptions of exactly what's happening to my body.
Some men find it intimidating, but you," she kissed my jaw, quick and warm, "you seem to like it, which is convenient, because I can't turn it off, and also won't, because it makes you fuck harder, which I've noticed, scientifically, with data. "
The sheets were cool where they weren't damp.
My cum was drying on both their thighs, warm and sticky, and the scent of sex hung thick and real and completely beyond denial.
Penny's leg was tangled with mine, her foot hooked around my ankle, and Tatum's hand had settled over my heart where she could feel exactly how fast it was beating.
Slower now. Steadier.
"I should clean up," Penny murmured, and made no move to do so.
"Absolutely not," Tatum said. "The mess is evidence. Forensic evidence of excellence. I'm framing these sheets. Very tasteful framing. Possibly in the living room, where everyone can appreciate the craftsmanship."
I laughed, and my arm tightened around both of them, pulling them closer until Penny's breast pressed against my ribs and Tatum's laughter vibrated through my chest.
"Stay," I said. Simple and clear. "Both of you. However long you want. However this fits. However messy it gets."
Penny's smile spread slow and certain, and the look she gave me had nothing to do with glamour and everything to do with the woman underneath. "We're not going anywhere," she said, and kissed my shoulder again, her lips lingering.
"Literally physically attached," Tatum confirmed, and pressed closer. "Koala protocol. Very thorough. Very permanent. You're stuck with me. Both of you. Very stuck. Very, very happily stuck."
The late afternoon light came through Tatum's window in long gold bars, catching the dust motes and the steam from the shower we hadn't taken and the evidence of three people who had stopped pretending.
Her room felt different now. Not just claimed.
Lived-in. Used. The bed we'd wrecked, the sheets we'd stained, the air we'd filled with sounds that were private and weren't.
I looked at the ceiling. At the string lights Tatum had hung above the bed, still glowing warm and steady. At the framed photo of us from the fair on her nightstand. At the unicorn on the windowsill, keeping watch over the lake like it had seen everything and wasn't judging.
My house. Their things. Our mess. The man who'd caught them at family functions and the man who got to keep them were standing in the same skin now, and I couldn't remember why I'd ever thought those two lives could stay separate.
Tatum's breath slowed against my neck. Penny's hand spread over my heart. And the weight of both of them, warm and real and mine because they had chosen to be, settled over me like something I'd been missing without knowing the shape of the hole.
We should’ve gotten dressed. Kiki and the other girls would be back soon. But Tatum hadn't moved, and Penny hadn't moved, and I wasn't going to be the one to end this.
Five minutes, I told myself.
Five minutes turned into fifteen. Tatum stole a granola bar from the nightstand and ate it without sitting up, which was an athletic achievement I chose not to question.
Penny traced slow lines on my stomach and watched the ceiling.
I lay between them and felt the soreness settling in, the good kind, the kind that means something real occurred, and underneath that the awareness that this room and this house and these women had changed again.
Eventually Tatum rolled off the bed and found a clean t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Penny located her shirt, but her braid was doing nothing to hide the fact that she'd been horizontal recently. I got my jeans on and pulled my shirt over my head, wrinkled in a way that wasn't ambiguous.
Tatum stood in the middle of her room, looked around at the wrecked sheets and the burned-down candle and the throw pillows scattered across the floor, and grinned.
"I love my room," she said.
***
We heard the car in the driveway about ten minutes after we'd reassembled ourselves in the living room.
Tatum was on the couch with her feet in my lap.
Penny was in the chair beside us, her braid over one shoulder, a glass of water in her hand.
We were watching something on television that none of us were actually watching.
The door opened. Kiki came in first with two bags. Shay was right behind her with a flat box that smelled like pizza. Reese had a bag over her shoulder and a smaller box under her arm. Eden came last, carrying a jacket and looking at her phone.
Kiki set the bags down, looked at the three of us, and said, "Yep."
Shay set the pizza on the table, looked at the three of us, and said, "Called it."
"You didn't call anything," Tatum said.
"I called it before we left," Shay said. "I said, verbatim, 'those three are going to get into trouble the second we're out the driveway.' Kiki, back me up."
"She said it," Kiki confirmed, already opening the pizza box.
Tatum was wearing my t-shirt and nothing else, bare legs, bare feet, her copper hair in a knot that had clearly been assembled without a mirror.
Penny's braid was doing its best. The marks on her collarbone were visible from across the room.
I was in wrinkled jeans and a shirt that had spent an unknown amount of time near a tapestry wall, and the water I was drinking like a man who had run a marathon wasn't making any of this more ambiguous.
"You left on purpose," I said.
"We had things to do," Kiki said, not looking up from the pizza.
"You absolutely left on purpose."
"We had a lot of things to do." Kiki handed me a slice. "You're welcome."
Shay dropped onto the couch on Tatum's other side and immediately hooked an arm around her. "You look disgusting," she told Tatum, with the warmth of someone who meant it as a compliment. "Like, absolutely wrecked. Five stars. Would recommend."